


Wrinkle In Time

by CaseyStar



Series: Merthur Party 2013 [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyStar/pseuds/CaseyStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Merlin coped and spent his time until the call came</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrinkle In Time

**Author's Note:**

> Over on tumblr [ kcsplace](http://kcsplace.tumblr.com), so come say hello here if you want.

This was a punishment.

Merlin truly believed that. For every life he had taken, for every life snuffed out by his actions, intended or not, he lived a stolen life. It was all about balance, Nimueh had once told him. Arthur needed a servant in the next life, needed _Merlin_ and this was how.

Merlin had learnt of his seeming immortality soon after Arthur’s death. He’d sat motionless upon the bank for he didn’t know how long, staring out at the spot the barge had left his sight, at where Arthur had left his sight and never returned. When he’d come back to himself Merlin was aware the grass was longer, flowers had bloomed that had not even been buds last he’d known. Days, weeks possibly he’d sat upon the bank and he had lived.

Merlin never returned to Camelot, did his best to avoid any gossip or news he heard, though he couldn’t avoid watching Albion fall. Watching as the world he knew changed. So he hid himself away, turned from any and all that he might grow to care for. To love. Merlin had lost more than Arthur; he’d lost half his heart and soul. He could not bear to risk losing more of himself. So he turned from the world. It was only when he little recognised his own self that he ventured back into the light. The light that blinded him now he didn’t have Arthur as his shield. He was used to living a life as a shadow. 

He hated himself sometimes. Despised himself for decades, centuries at a time. Hated how he could only really recall Arthur’s face when he dreamt. Hated that he couldn’t quite remember the taste of Arthur on his lips. Or the feel of his hair between clutching fingers. Hated himself for his weakness and his cruel hope. Hated how his heart leapt as the bloodshed increased, as one king after another ripped Albion apart until the very earth cried for Arthur along with Merlin. Hated how he yearned, if only for a second, that this time it would be enough to bring Arthur back.

It never was.

So Merlin found a new purpose; to protect Albion as she waited for her King. He recorded everything. His journals were love letters to Arthur, detailing how the world changed yet his name rang forever in the minds of men. That what he had worked for and done mattered. That what he had brought to the world mattered. Merlin took great care of the land Arthur loved, inserting himself where he could to protect what Arthur had built, to defuse animosity and rob Death of more souls. He’d watched over Albion as it changed, twisted and bloomed into something new, watched as the peoples grew ever more varied.

With every new scientific and medical breakthrough, Merlin’s heart ached to tell Gaius, to tell his old friend about new techniques and new discoveries, to show him how easily ailments and injuries could be treated. He still regretted never again seeing the man to whom he owed his life, but Merlin suspected that Gaius had never expected him home, the promise of a favoured meal the old man’s way of offering his love and unable to find words to offer sympathy. Gaius had known even then that Arthur would die. Not because he doubted Merlin’s abilities, but because he knew the true strength of prophecy, knew how far the Fates would go to ensure the story ended where it was destined.

As those that believed in magic died, as the belief in magic itself died, as his own words and deeds fell into nothing more than myth and legend, Merlin kept Albion’s magic alive by feeding his own back into the earth, reminding the soil who he was, who Arthur was and what they were waiting for. He could feel it, a hum and faint vibration, when he placed his hand to the ground, the land anxiously awaiting its true ruler. Anywhere in Albion he could ask his most desperate question and the land would answer. 

So far the answer had always been _‘no’_.

One day, one day soon it will answer _’yes’_ and the first face Arthur will see will be Merlin’s as the sorcerer fights down tears, and asks ‘what has taken so long’. Merlin can feel it, a feeling that slithers away from his grasp when he focuses on it, an anticipation that seems to thicken the air…

Arthur is rising.

He has waited this long. He can last this little longer. 

Dusting his hand off on his coat, he coaxes his old bones to stand tall once more, shoulders his bag and begins the long trek back to Avalon. 

Back to Arthur.


End file.
